


Familiar Faces

by firefright, Skalidra



Series: Chained and Bound [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Auction, Conditioning, M/M, Manipulation, No Sex, Nudity, Ownership, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 23:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21225962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: A mission to save a group of slaves from auction goes swiftly wrong when Jason, a former slave himself, runs into a familiar face while undercover at the party preceding it. And unfortunately for both him and his partner in crime, Dick, Slade has no intention of letting his property go again.





	Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is our fic for Day 4 of this year's SladeRobin Week, featuring the prompt 'Auction'. Forewarning before you all continue, it's not a happy story, but we definitely had a lot of fun with it (and there may be more of this universe to come in the future). Enjoy!

Jason stares out the window as he breathes; slowly, in and out and letting each last just long enough to start to burn. It grounds him, even as the car flies higher than he ever thought he'd be, far above most of the twisting skyscrapers even here, in the center of power for the whole planet. If he looked forward, he knows he'd see the tower they're coming up to. Not the absolute tallest building here, but one of them, and their destination isn't all that many floors down from the top. He doesn't have to look; the car's programmed with the right approach sequence, it has the confirmation and the codes to send. There's nothing for him to do but wait.

He knows how to wait. It was— He knows. Breathe slow, be still, let his mind go quiet, and just… wait. It's not hard, if you've been taught how. Great way to get to sleep, too.

"Jason, hey."

He blinks, turning his head. "Yes?" _'Sir' _hovers at the tip of his tongue for a moment, but he bites down before it makes it any further. Dick's damn well not his Sir, even if the easy confidence he projects sometimes gives Jason that same feeling. He's not falling back on bad habits just because he's a little unnerved.

"You're blanking," Dick comments, voice low, and concerned. "Are you with me?"

His eyes narrow. Then, just as quickly, he turns his head away again. “I was not. I’m fine.”

“Jason,” Dick’s words are careful, not as forcefully spoken to him as they might be anyone else in his position. “I know what you blanking looks like. It’s okay if you’re nervous, you know.”

“I’m not—” Jason bites his lip, watching his reflection in the window do the same. There’s no point in lying when the truth is obvious. “I know.”

Behind his own, Dick’s reflection smiles slightly, before his expression turns more serious. “We’ve practiced for this. Everything is planned in as much detail as it possibly can be, you’re going to do fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Jason answers. “If you were two inches taller, you’d be the one doing this.”

“Maybe,” Dick agrees, before his hand gently touches Jason’s elbow. “But you know these people better than I ever could. You know how they act, how they talk. They’d see right through me in a second, but not you.”

“I already agreed to do this, Dick,” he sighs, even as a deeper part of him instantly preens under what it’s trained to recognise as praise. “You don’t have to convince me now.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to reassure you, Jason. Whatever happens here tonight, I’ve got your back. And even if you decide you want to turn around and call it quits now, I’d support you.”

The worst part is Jason knows he would. Ever since the day they met, Dick has been the most consistently supportive out of all the Emancipators he’s met. Always patient, always understanding. Always considerate of every weight and reverberation Jason’s past lays upon his present. Whatever Jason decides he wants to do with his life now that he’s free, he knows Dick would have his back, even if it was to turn and run to the furthest corner of the galaxy he could rather than stay and continue the fight.

“I’m fine.” he says again, as firmly as he can. “I _want_ to do this.”

Dick’s expression softens again in the window, and his fingers squeeze Jason’s elbow a little more firmly. “That’s all I need to hear, Jay. You want to go over anything again before we get there?”

Jason shakes his head. “No, I just want to get it over and done with.”

“That makes two of us.”

They spend the rest of the flight in silence, and Jason maybe doesn’t mind that Dick keeps his hand resting on his arm the entire time. It helps to steady his nerves more than words could, even as it also makes his stomach turn in other, more intense ways. Ways they’ve been dancing around each in for months now, for many different reasons.

It’s just another reason to go ahead and get this over with, so that they can, as Dick quietly suggested to him a few days ago, sit down and properly talk it out when they’re back home and safe again.

A quiet beep from the car’s dash alerts them both to the fact they’re about to land, and Jason draws in a deep breath before forcing himself to sit up straight. He’s here to play the part of an Elite, which means there’s no room to show anything but strength and confidence.

“Remember,” Dick says, as he lets go of his arm finally, “I’ll be right behind you the whole time. Any problems, just use one of the code phrases we talked about.”

Jason nods, but that’s all. He reaches up to make sure his designer jacket is sitting straight across his shoulders before the door opens and he steps out onto the landing platform where the staff for this slave auction event are waiting to greet him, going over once again in his head the details of his persona.

He’s a young elite from an Outer Rim planet, just come into his inheritance, and looking to have some fun with it. Which is why he’s here on Central to purchase a fresh, perfectly trained slave from the Inner Core. Brash arrogance is the order of the day here, as well as the enthusiasm to get him close enough to the front of the stage to plant the blackout device that will help the Emancipators thwart this particular auction when the time is right. It's a basic plan, nothing to be worried about, except that it all hinges on no one seeing through his performance. So, he has to perform (he's done that before, so no problem, right?).

He glances over the staff like they're not worth his attention, head held high above them both from posture and the fact he's a good three or four inches bigger than any of them. That’s the easiest way to tell an Elite from anyone else: height. The genetic alteration they go through even before birth makes sure none of them will ever be anything less than six feet when they reach adulthood. It’s not a perfect system, of course, as Jason, the product of good old fashioned, natural breeding proves that even slaves and normies can still reach those heights without science’s help, but it’s usually a first good indication.

As he walks forward, Dick follows behind him. He’s not dressed quite as finely as Jason is, but his clothing is still better than most, indicating his role as both a servant and… well. 

Dick is pretty, no one can deny that. He turns heads anywhere he goes without even trying. That's why their handlers on this mission had agreed that he should play not just the role of Jason's servant on this mission, but his consort, too. Something that will legitimise Dick's presence at the auction further, as well as give him a little more leeway in how he behaves.

There go those funny feelings in his stomach again.

They make it off the roof and into the elevator without problems, travelling a couple floors down through the skyscraper to the level where the auction is set to take place. When the doors open again, Dick threads his arm through Jason’s with a smile on his face, and they step boldly through into the room beyond together.

There are plenty of people milling about already, groups and pairs of Elites easy to tell apart from their accompanying people both by height as well as clothing. Jason matches, thankfully. Maybe his clothes are slightly behind on fashion's ever-changing season, but he's supposed to be from a distant territory, so that'll be expected. For now, they have some time before the auction starts to take a look around, make sure everything is as their intel said it would be, and plant his blackout device. Out here there's the alcohol and snacks to keep them all satisfied, and then of course the 'previews.'

Artful arrangements of furniture and light around the edges of the room, each section reserved for a different training company. The ones on display now, about five to eight in each one, are the middling category. The highest priced slaves will be carefully sequestered away until the time comes for the actual auction, protected from any wandering hands or any disruption of their styling. These ones are for the Elite without pockets quite as deep, or those who just aren’t interested in the top sellers. They’re advertisement, too, showing off the standard training and quality of the companies.

Lastly, they’re entertainment, here to amuse and be admired until it’s time for the auction to start. Jason can’t see it happening right at this moment, but he remembers that ‘display’ also meant that if a potential buyer wanted a demonstration, to watch or to sample themselves, they were free to arrange one. Anything they wanted to see.

Jason tilts them slightly towards a passing servant, and they each lift a hand to take one of the tall glasses of something light blue balanced on his tray. It has a sharp burn to it, whatever it is, and Dick almost coughs when he takes a sip. Jason swallows a little more easily.

“That’s… That’s an interesting flavor,” Dick mutters, once the servant’s safely out of earshot. “Maybe I should stick with things I recognize after this.”

"Good luck with that," Jason says back, through a grin he doesn't feel. "Everything's going to be whatever the latest fad is."

Dick offers him a smile that's real looking enough to fit in with what he's supposed to be, and Jason tears his gaze away from it and glances over the room again. They've talked about it already. Mingle first, get his cover story in place, then take an early trip into the auction room. Excuse it away as unfamiliarity with procedure if anyone asks, or wanting to find somewhere a little out of the way for some quiet fun with his 'companion.' They've got enough excuses, if they need them, and ideally they want to keep this cover in place if they need it later. If they can do this without drawing suspicion on themselves, that's for the best.

That's a later problem, though. They still have to get through the first part of this before any of that.

He takes a breath, fights the urge to straighten his spine that last inch into really perfect posture, and leads the way towards one of the collections of chairs and couches that make for gathering spots. There's still some room left at this one, a chair or two. Dick won't be sitting anyway; he's supposed to have some leeway, but not that much.

The conversation pauses briefly as he reaches the group of five (plus ‘company’ of one kind or another), and he’s already taking a seat even as he asks, “Mind if I join you?”

They’re not unfriendly, exactly, just calculating.

“And you would be?” one asks. Maybe the functional leader of the group, highest even among them. Or maybe just the most outspoken.

Jason gives a small smirk, pulling the whole act tighter around him like a cloak. “Todd. Peterson.” And _give_, just a little. Just enough to make it clear that he knows how to play these games of give and take, and that ‘Todd’ knows that this group is far above his own social standing. Arrogant, but not stupid. “I wouldn’t expect you to know it; I’m afraid I’m new to Central. My family owns territory on the Outer Rim.”

They thaw, with all the easy confidence of a group of predators deciding the newcomer in their midst isn’t any threat. Just an Outer Rim, lower-class Elite. His authority here only extends to servants and slaves; any Elite that lives in the Core is automatically above his assumed identity.

It’s enough attention, without being too much. And it’ll be useful for explaining long absences, if needed. Trips back and forth to the Outer Rim take a good chunk of time.

What's now clearly the ringleader introduces them all, names and whatever they own or manage, and then the conversation resumes. Jason's quieter than most of them, but who he's pretending to be wouldn't be knowledgeable about everything they're discussing, so it works. He listens, watches, comments where appropriate. Dick stays standing behind him, silent and observant, keeping an eye on the time, and who else is around, and everything that Jason can't focus on without losing track of what he's doing with the Elites.

Finally, after about an hour or so, Dick gently taps Jason’s elbow to signal him, and he excuses himself from the table under the pretext of looking over the merchandise. Which they do, at least a little. Skirting round the edge of the room in a roundabout way that brings them steadily closer to the auction area.

No one pulls them into any real conversation, thankfully. A few traded comments, here and there; one company representative that tries to persuade them to take a closer look at one of the slaves on display. Nothing that Jason can’t smile and remove himself from, easily enough. Then the auction doors are there, still closed but without anyone watching them, as far as he sees. The light squeeze of Dick’s hand at his elbow says the same.

He leans closer, ready to make a show of it for anyone that might catch a glimpse. Just one young Elite, and one very pretty companion, impatient and foolish.

“Excuse me,” a voice breaks in, before Jason can say anything. “I hear that you’re new to Central.”

Low, rich, and so, _so _familiar in every way that wakes him in the middle of the night, resonating so deeply in his bones that his back draws straight and tense without him thinking about it. Dick’s hand tightens on his arm, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the man stepping around in front of them, tall even for an Elite, face just the same as it was a half a decade ago, identical to the one that haunts his dreams.

Slade Wilson, master and trainer and someone who was _not supposed to be here_, smiles in a way that doesn’t reach the studying sharpness of his eyes. “Todd, isn’t it?”

Jason takes a belated breath, terror spiking cold down his spine as his body reacts to that voice all on its own. Slade. Gods, _Slade_. (_“Stand up straight, boy. Gaze down, hands behind your back, shallow breaths.”_)

“And you would be?” Dick asks, leaning into his side, fingers digging into his arm hard enough that it breaks the spell Slade’s voice has woven around him.

The sharp eyes turn away from him, momentarily, and Jason manages a deeper breath even as Slade says, “No one that you have the right to ask questions of, boy.” He still stiffens slightly, but he feels less completely frozen when Slade looks back to him. “The Outer Rim may be more lax about things, but here your companion’s tongue might get him in trouble, if he doesn’t know when to hold it.”

Dick knows that. He knows he’s not supposed to—

It’s on purpose. A moment to catch his breath, get his shit together and _handle _this, before he blows everything.

“Of course,” he agrees, forcing his voice to come out smooth. He doesn’t want to, but he nudges Dick away from him with a small push, feigning the displeasure he should be showing in response to the disobedience. Dick lets go of his arm. “Thank you for understanding; I thought he knew better, but I’ll make sure of it in the future.”

There’s a gleam of approval, somewhere in the back of Slade’s gaze. Jason tries not to react to it. “I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. I hear you’re in the market for your first personal slave. I’m a trainer; why don’t I show you around the displays? Best to be well informed on such an important choice, wouldn’t you agree?”

There’s no real choice but to answer, “Yes. But—”

“Good.” A hand lifts as Slade steps in, and Jason has to fight going rigid again as it slides around his shoulders, bringing him in against Slade's side. “I think your companion can leave us be, for now.” Before he can even open his mouth to argue, Slade's leaning in and adding more quietly, “I noticed you two were about to duck out, before I came up. Maybe he can find somewhere quiet for the two of you, while we talk. Take it from someone with more experience; it's better to plan those kinds of things. You wouldn't want to get a reputation for being careless before you've even been fully introduced, would you?"

“No.” Jason says, hearing his own voice as if from very far away. “I wouldn’t.”

“Of course not.” Slade smiles, fingers squeezing lightly at his shoulder. “Go on then. Give the order; tell him to go.”

That’s not a good idea. It’s not. But Slade’s watching him, and those _eyes _(one fake, one real)are just like he remembers, the weight of his arm painfully familiar, and the thought of saying ‘no’ makes his whole chest go tight and cold.

His neck feels stiff, but he turns it. Dick looks up at him, eyes wide and far too open, and he _knows _that even if he can’t fully comprehend it right now. “Go,” he orders; it’s the only word he can manage to scrape out of his throat. Not enough to mean everything he needs to say, but it still has to be.

“You heard your employer, boy. Leave us.”

Everything goes strange and detached as Dick bows his head, stepping back and turning away. _Leaving _him. That should scare him, and the terror is there, but it’s distant. He feels… distant. Removed. (Is he blanking? This doesn’t feel like blanking. He doesn’t feel quiet, or still, or calm.)

“He’s very good-looking,” Slade comments, nearly in his ear. “I think you’ve let him run a little wild, though; taking liberties he shouldn’t be allowed. That happens with the pretty ones, sometimes. They learn they can get away with things, as long as they stay pleasing in other ways; best not to reinforce that kind of behavior.”

He blinks, pulling his gaze away from Dick’s back and turning it up instead. He heard the words, he knows he did, but they come in slow. “What?”

Slade’s mouth curls in a small smirk, “I said, I think discipline is important in a slave, don’t you?”

“Yes, s—” he bites his tongue before the forbidden word can slip out. “Um… who did you say you are again?”

“I didn’t.” Slade replies, amusement further crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’m Slade Wilson. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Should he have? Jason doesn’t know. He can’t think. His mind is spinning in every way. He needs direction. He needs Dick. But Dick is being left behind him, and oh, when did they start walking? He blinks as he finds himself being pulled along by Slade to the other side of the room.

“No,” he manages to say, after what he hopes is only a few seconds, if that. Feigning ignorance seems safest. “No, I haven’t.”

“Are you sure?” Slade presses, causing Jason to swallow. “I have quite a few customers in the Outer Rim, you know. Though I have to say, I’ve never heard of your family before.”

_Change the subject_, what’s left of Jason’s self-preservation instinct screams. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list; are you with one of the companies?”

"Oh, no. I'm a private contractor; the larger companies don't like to invite us to their showings, but, well…” Slade laughs, deep and brief. "No one would try and deny me entrance; I'm too well known."

He knew that. He thinks he did, anyway. Even when he was younger, it was easy to see that his master was well respected, rich, and very well connected. When he was sold, it was… He'd never seen anyone spoken to with as much deference as Slade.

"Why don't they want you here?" Jason asks, dragging his mind away from the thought of his younger years. His _owned_ years.

"Put simply, we tend to discourage sales. The main companies are necessary, of course, but they aren't the very best option, for those that can afford it." They slow, drawing to a stop before one of the displays. An attendant at one side of it smiles at them and shifts forward, probably just in time to hear Slade say, "For example, A&M Co. relies heavily on corporal punishment. It's functional, but causes problems if a master has any inclination to cause any type of pain."

She stops in her tracks. Slade offers her a winning smile, and continues.

"Their slaves are well trained, otherwise, but it's a rather fatal flaw in my opinion. A slave should view pain as nothing more than something that a master might require them to endure; it shouldn't be tied exclusively to punishment. Otherwise, you invite obedience problems. A slave that thinks it's being punished, without being able to understand the reason for it, will always act out in some way or another.”

Jason bites the inside of his cheek. Unwanted memories are coming back to him. Memories he’s tried so hard to bury over the years. Of being on his knees, the sensation of a crop hitting his back or his thighs. Of standing by Slade’s side for hours, holding a tray of drinks his master never touched until his arms were shaking and every muscle in his upper back and shoulders were in agony. Then on his hands and knees, his master’s feet resting heavily on his back, pressing deeper the understanding that all parts of his existence were for someone else’s needs and pleasure, not his own. That the only satisfaction he should ever need in his life was his master’s.

“I see,” he manages to say.

“Tell me,” Slade says, as he moves them on to another display, “What do you intend to use your slave for?”

“Oh just, normal stuff, you know. The same things everyone uses slaves for.”

“Well, I suppose you’re not needing a pleasure slave, considering how pretty your companion back there is. Unless you’re here because you’re getting bored of him?” Slade’s eyes glint, and for the first time since Jason saw him, he’s able to respond with hard clarity.

“No! No, I’m… I’m not.”

It’s a mistake, he knows it as soon as he’s done it. But then, this whole evening is now feeling like a mistake. As much as Jason wants to believe, _hope_, that this is just a coincidence and Slade hasn’t recognised him after all these years, his gut is screaming that that’s not the case. Slade was — is — clever. Too clever to be so easily fooled. And though Jason’s memory isn’t perfect, he’s also certain his former master wasn’t the type to come up and be as friendly with a client as he’s being with Jason right now.

But then again, if that is the case, why is he doing this? Why is he not just calling Jason out right now? Either he doesn’t know or he’s playing with him, and Jason has the depressing feeling that out of both options it’s definitely the latter.

“Then again, there’s some things you just don’t ask lovers to do, isn’t there?” Slade’s fingers dig a little harder into his shoulder. “Things only a slave is good for.”

Jason looks away from him, blushing hard. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” he says.

He gets a laugh for it. "That's _exactly_ my business. There's all sorts of kinks out there, kid, and all kinds of people that aren't interested in everything their partner wants. Slaves are an outlet, whatever shape that ends up taking. But surely you have some experience with that; even a young man like yourself must have sampled a household slave or two. Had a father that introduced you to the way things work, perhaps?"

Damn it. Jason doesn’t dare look back at him, fixating very hard on the nearest display instead. Slade’s a vastly higher ranking Elite than he’s supposed to be, he needs to remember that. He can’t just snap at him like that. Not without getting himself into trouble even without the truth of his past coming out.

“Not really,” he answers, carefully, “We weren’t that close.”

“What a shame.” Slade’s tone is barely sympathetic. He nods towards the nearest slave being presented. A woman with dark hair and warm, full lips. “Perhaps you’d like to try now, then? Most of these companies won’t mind if you’d like to sample their merchandise before you buy.”

“I…” Jason looks at her, then shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’m not really one for public displays. I’m sure you understand.”

Slade chuckles. “No one said anything about an audience, Todd. They have private rooms.” He claps his hand on his shoulder. “I can see you’re a little shy. Don’t worry, I’ll set it all up for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” he says, trying to think of a good reason to say no.

“Of course not, but it’d be my pleasure.” Slade’s lips curl wider. “Think of it as my own personal way of welcoming you to the Core.”

Jason can feel himself wilting as Slade lets go of him and steps over to the booth to speak with the representative there without waiting for him to reply. There’s nothing he can do to stop him, either, and so he’s forced to come to the conclusion that he’ll just have to go along with it for now. But on the plus side, maybe once he reaches this ‘private room’ there’ll be a way for him to escape and reunite with Dick.

It’s a slim hope, but right now, also the best and only one he’s got.

When a servant comes over to lead him to the room, Jason follows without protest. Grateful, at least, for the chance to get away from Slade’s suffocating presence. It takes them a couple minutes to get there, during which he does his best to surreptitiously try and see where Dick has gotten to. Nothing. Not a hint. That's probably good; it means that no one's caught him yet, right? And if no one’s caught him, then he’s successfully planted the blackout device, the key to both the success of their mission and getting them back out of here.

All he has to do is stall until their backup gets here. 

He barely resists thanking the servant when they arrive at the door, having to forcibly remind himself that he still has a part to play. Elites don't thank servants just for doing their jobs; slaves either. She leaves as he presses the panel beside the door, which beeps welcomingly and slides open with only a faint hiss of air. 

Except when he steps inside, there’s no slave there waiting for him. Only Slade.

“Hello, Jason.”

With just those two words, his knees go weak, and his head starts to spin all over again. He doesn’t pay attention to the sound of the door shutting behind him, only the sight of Slade. Slade, who has a look of profound disappointment on his face, cutting far deeper into Jason’s chest than any blade ever could.

“Sir…” He can’t help it this time. The word slips free of his lips before he can stop it. Though he does manage to hold back on the urge to throw himself to the floor in supplication.

Not that such an act would do him any good now.

“I tried to give you a chance back there, you know,” Slade is saying, “Multiple chances, in fact, to come clean with me. I thought that even after all this time, you might have the sense to make this easier on yourself. Apparently I was wrong, though.”

Jason hiccups softly. He tries to speak, but no more words will come through. It’s like someone has lodged an ice-cube in his throat and he’s choking on it.

Slade inclines his head towards him, almost like he knows, before snapping his fingers and pointing to a spot on the floor beside his feet. “Kneel.”

Jason takes a step forward before he realises what he’s doing. After which it takes more effort than he’d ever like to admit to stop. He’s not a slave anymore, he desperately reminds himself. He’s free now. Dick and the others, they taught him how.

“No.” he says, though it comes out reedy and weak. Slade no longer looks so amused.

“Think carefully now, pet,” And oh, that word… Jason’s heard that word spoken in his dreams more times than he cares to count. “Do you really want to do that? Didn’t I teach you better? Those thieves who stole you from me can’t have undone all my hard work; after all, you're still wearing my mark."

Jason’s cheeks burn, at the same time as his right hand jumps up to touch his ear. All slaves carry identifiers. Usually, in the form of microchips and collars. Jason had both of those when the Emancipators took him, and each was swiftly removed within an hour of him being in their care. But what they hadn’t known, and Jason had never shared with them, was that Slade had given him another mark, too. A third, personal touch, in addition to what was standard.

At first, he’d kept the tiny tattoo hidden behind his ear out of a hope that his master would come to reclaim him, as the early days of being freed had been terrifying, rather than joyful. But then, even as he grew acclimatised to it, slowly understanding the gift he’d been given, he’d still hung onto the mark. Exactly why was hard to explain, even to himself. It was just… just a part of him. Like his fingers, like his toes. Getting rid of it would have felt exactly the same as chopping one of them off.

“How do you know that?” he asks, tremulously. His hair is too long for Slade to have been able to just casually spot it while they walked.

Isn’t it?

“Because I know you, pet. Hiding under that jacket or not, I know who you are." Slade takes a step closer, and the room wasn't that big to start with but having him so close makes it feel even smaller. Makes him tower in a way that sends Jason spinning back to when he was young, and _small_. "You know too, boy, don't you?"

It's not really a question, but still Jason almost nods. A hand lifts, nudging his own aside and replacing it, warm and huge against the side of his head, thumb slipping behind his ear to rub a slow, painfully familiar circle right over that little dot of a mark.

“Don’t—”

"Say it for me," Slade orders, voice nothing more than a murmur.

Jason shudders, everything he was — _is _— rising with a vengeance. No, he can't— He's not—

"_Say_ it."

“_Yours_,” Jason finds himself gasping, and then his breath is hitching, legs folding beneath him. His chest feels like it’s caving in, trembles shaking his shoulders as he kneels, head bowing under the weight of the hand resting there. “I’m sorry! I’m _sorry_.”

Fingers card through his hair, clasping over the back of his neck and pulling him forward. His forehead presses to the solid weight of Slade’s thigh, warm and familiar, dragging another hitched gasp from his chest.

“I know, boy, I know.” The fingers comb up through his hair, gentle but sure, everything he dreads and everything he’s never stopped missing. “They got in your head, didn’t they? It’s alright; I know you didn’t choose to leave. I know you would have come back to me, if you could.”

Jason hears himself whine, and he has no idea whether it’s denial or a plea.

Slade hushes him, squeezing lightly at the back of his neck. “It’s alright, I’m here now. You’re back where you belong, boy. No one will ever steal you from me again, I promise.” Another squeeze, before the hand leaves his neck and circles around, fingers sliding beneath his chin and tilting it up. “Now come on, boy. Stand up for me.”

He feels weak, but the pull of those fingers is irresistable. He rises as if pulled by a tether, until he stands tall in front of Slade, shoulders back, chin lifted, still forced to look up to see those blue eyes.

“Still,” Slade commands, as he releases him.

He tries to stay entirely still, he really does, but he can’t. Slade steps around him, fingers trailing along the breadth of his shoulders, and a shudder jerks down his spine the moment they pass over the nape of his neck.

Slade hushes him again, still gentle, as he finishes circling. “Easy, boy. Eyes on me, and pay attention.”

Jason obeys on automatic, lifting his gaze even as his breath shakes on the inhalation. Freezes entirely, when Slade’s hands lift to his chest, taking each of his lapels in hand. Thumbs smooth, slowly, over the embroidered fabric.

“This isn’t you, boy.” Slade tugs lightly at the jacket, then lets go and steps back, arms crossing over his chest. “Take it off. All of it.”

_Don’t, you don’t have to_. a voice inside Jason tries to say. It doesn’t sound like his own, but he can’t pinpoint who it belongs to either. He should know, but right now, Slade is too much. He can’t think with those eyes watching him: waiting, expecting.

Hands trembling slightly, he reaches up to remove his jacket, sliding the fine material off his shoulders before folding it over his arm and carefully setting it down on the floor. As much as his master doesn’t want him wearing it, he doesn’t think he’d be pleased if Jason just dropped everything in a messy pile, either. Better to be as neat about the process as he can.

Next follows his waistcoat. Then his cravat. Jason’s fingers slip on the buttons and silky material, but he manages it, getting rid of both in the space of a minute. Then it’s his shirt, pulled off and folded on top of the rest. It’s only then Jason feels a moment of sudden self-consciousness, realising that he’s standing bare-chested in front of another man. In front of _Slade_.

“How well you’ve grown,” Slade says then, and nothing can stop the way Jason keens to the praise. Needing it just as much as he needs air. “Keep going, pet. Just a little more.”

He toes off his shoes. Removes his belt. All that’s left now is his trousers and underwear. The first of which is easy to take off, the second on the other hand… He swallows before doing it, sliding the cheap, synthetic material off his hips. No need to pretend with that, after all, it’s not like they had planned for him to get undressed in front of anyone. It’s not like they planned—

A tremor takes him as he straightens back up one final time.

Slade looks at him for a long few seconds, gaze as steady as it always was, slicing down to the meat of him without any effort. When he shifts forward Jason flinches, but all the lifted hand does is tilt his chin up with gentle knuckles, till he's looking Slade in the eye. Then there's a slow, approving smile.

"There he is," comes the soft murmur. "There's my boy."

In the end, all it takes to undo five years of freedom is three words from Slade. Jason’s breath hitches in the wake of them, his eyes sting, and when he blinks, tears spill over his cheeks, marking two clear trails down to his chin. He can’t stop them. He wants to, but he can’t. The same as he can’t stop the broken, “_Sir_,” that escapes from his lips, wanting and afraid. “Please…”

Two strong arms wrap around him, and before he can truly understand what’s happening, Jason finds himself embraced by Slade, with his cheek pressed against his chest. “Easy, pet,” he says, “It’s all right. You can leave everything to me now; I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

A sob wracks Jason’s shoulders, and he has to turn his face further to not make a mess of Slade’s shirt, even though all he really wants to do is press himself harder against him. Despite what Slade said, he knows he’s in trouble. He knows there’ll be punishment for this later on, and he shouldn’t do anything to make it worse. He’s already disappointed him enough.

Slade’s hand rubs warm circles down his naked back, before a light kiss is pressed to Jason’s temple. Then he’s gently pushed a step back, looking up just in time to watch Slade remove his own jacket from his shoulders. 

“Come on, boy,” he says, “We might as well be comfortable while we wait.”

Wait for what? Jason struggles to remember, even as he obediently follows Slade to a chair in the corner of the room. His master sits, before tapping the space in front of him with his foot, and once Jason has kneeled there, lightly drapes his jacket around him.

It’s soft and warm. And the smell of Slade’s cologne is just the same as it always was, thickly soaked into the fabric. Jason feels fifteen all over again like this, waiting to be told what to do next. A thought that sends even more tears running down his face as Slade draws him forward and presses Jason’s head back against his leg.

“There now. Breathe, boy. That’s all you have to do. Breathe, and wait.”

He breathes. He waits. Then the lights go out.

He's barely even registered it enough to flinch before they flicker back on, noticeably dimmer. Slade's hand stays steady on the back of his head, easing him back into place with a firm push before lightly scratching at his scalp. He settles, soothed by the touch in ways he doesn't want to look too closely at.

"That would be your pretty friend, I imagine,” Slade comments, and Jason stirs slightly, remembering in a sharp flash Dick, and the plan to— “Plant a remote activated device to disable power and force it to a secondary source, and therefore security, just long enough that a secondary team can enter. They’ll free the slaves at auction, then whoever they can manage in the main room, if there’s any time left. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

Jason shivers, unable to help the uncomfortable tightness of his gut at the calm, idle laying out of everything they’d planned. He presses his head harder to his master’s thigh, trying to swallow the feeling away and go back to just waiting.

“Of course, this would have been your chance to escape, as well. Plenty of the guests will be spooked by the emergency lighting; they’ll get out as soon as they can, and two newcomers like the two of you wouldn’t have been missed in the confusion. A simple enough matter to call back and make excuses later, if you wanted to reuse the identity.” The fingers in his hair pull slightly, guiding him to lift his head and look up, to Slade’s warm gaze. “It doesn’t matter now, though, does it, boy? All of that’s in the past.”

Jason swallows. In the past, yes, all of it. It should be now that he’s back with his master. Back to where he never should have left. And for the most part, it’s surprisingly easy to let go of all the pieces of his life he’s built up since then. All except one.

Dick. As soon as Slade says it, he’s thinking of Dick. His warmth, his smiles. His strength, steadiness and wit. His blue eyes and dark hair; the promise he’d made that they would talk about everything between them the moment they got back to base after this mission. How much he makes Jason want him, when he was always raised with the understanding that it wasn’t his place to want anything, only to serve.

But Dick will be gone now. Like Slade said, the moment of the blackout was their time to escape, as well as for the secondary team to save the other slaves. He’ll be gone, and Jason is still here.

“Yes, sir,” he eventually manages.

Slade eyes him for a moment. “Tell me what you’re thinking, boy. What’s going on inside your head?”

On automatic, he says, “Nothing, sir,” but the _look _Slade gives him for that, sharp and disappointed, spurs his tongue on. “Sorry, sir, I—”

He tries to duck his head, but the hand in his hair won’t let him. The impulse to hide drives him to close his eyes, turn his head towards Slade’s leg, at least, where maybe some of his expression will be hidden.

Slade sighs, fingers gentling and lowering to cup his jaw, before pulling his head up with light pressure he doesn’t dare refuse. “Boy, look at me.”

He doesn’t want to. Slade won’t like where his head is; he’ll be displeased, and disappointed, and— (But it’s not his _place _to want or not want things, it’s his place to satisfy. Whatever’s asked of him, no matter what.)

He opens his eyes.

Slade’s thumb strokes his jaw, encouraging him to tilt his head a little further back with a light push, to more directly meet his gaze. “I asked you a question. Answering it isn’t going to be any worse than refusing to, boy. You know that.”

He does. He remembers that.

“Yes, sir. I— I was thinking about…” Some little piece of him stops Dick’s name on the tip of his tongue. “About the man I was with.”

“Mm, I see.” Slade studies him, the touch of his hand refusing to let him turn away, even if he wanted to. “No, I didn’t think everything out there was an act. Is he a friend? Or more than that?”

“I…” Heat steals over Jason’s cheeks. “A friend. But…” He swallows, “I wanted him to be more.”

He’s never told anyone else that before. Never. Only held the feelings within him. It had been a matter of luck that Dick was perceptive enough to recognise what Jason was hiding, otherwise—

“Good boy. That was very open of you. Well done.” Slade praises, and Jason flushes with pleasure on top of his embarrassment before he continues, “But you understand that it’s not your place to want things like that, right? It never was.”

“I know,” Jason whispers hoarsely. He does, but the reminder still hits him like a punch in the gut. He knows, though he’d tried to forget. It was always hard to have, to own, to desire. Even things as insignificant as clothes or a toothbrush had felt like luxuries to begin with, when he was given them with the understanding that they were his to keep. “I’m sorry, I tried not to.”

“It’s alright, boy, I’m sure you did. But you know that you have to let all that go, now. Everything they forced on you, everything that changed. All of it has to go.”

He trembles. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can. Not him. Not—”

The door to the room hisses open. Jason’s already twisting round to see why before he remembers he’s not supposed to, and by then it’s already too late.

Dick is standing there in the doorway, looking slightly dishevelled, like he’s been running. While the expression on his face…

The expression on his face is somewhere between horrified and enraged. Jason barely has the time to register it — and the gun in Dick’s hand — before he’s suddenly being pulled upwards to stand between his friend and Slade. “Dick—”

“Steady now, boy,” Slade murmurs against his ear, “Hush.”

His mouth clamps shut on automatic, even as Dick snarls, “You son of a bitch! Let go of him!”

“Are you going to shoot me, boy?” Slade says, and his tone by itself is enough to make Jason understand he’s no longer the one being addressed here. “You best be sure of your aim, if you are."

Dick’s eyes widen, then narrow as he adjusts his grip on the gun. “Coward,” he hisses, before turning his attention on Jason. “Jay. Jay, listen to me. We don’t have much time. You don’t have to do what he says, he doesn’t have a weapon. Please, come on, just step away from him and we can get out of here.”

Jason’s limbs twitch, and he almost does it. Almost. But then Slade’s fingers tighten around his arm, aborting the movement before it can really start. “Jason won’t be going anywhere with you.” he says, “Not now that he’s back where he belongs.”

"He doesn't belong with you! He’s not yours!”

“But of course he is. Jason’s been mine since he was a boy; you were never going to change that.”

Dick’s jaw clenches. “Jason, please. We have to go now.” He reaches out with the hand not holding the gun, voice softening. “I won’t leave you behind, you know I won’t, so please…”

Jason blinks, feeling tears sting at them all over again. A soft, broken sound escapes his lips, and he leans forward, against Slade’s grip. 

He pulls at him. Dick always pulls at him. Makes him want things he shouldn’t want. Makes him want…

“Dick, don’t—”

The door hisses open again, surprising both of them. Jason doesn’t see what happens next, as Slade takes advantage of the moment to twist him back around again, forcing Jason’s face back against his throat, but he hears the shouts of the security guards. Dick’s curse, then cry of pain before the heavy thud of a body hits the floor. A sob escapes his throat before he knows it.

“Hush, it’s all right.” Slade hums against his hair, completely unconcerned. “He’s still breathing.”

“Sir, please...”

“This is almost over. I’ll take you home soon.”

Jason swallows thickly. Inside his chest, his heart is beating a mile a minute, while in his ears there’s an acute buzzing like white noise. He feels very distant suddenly, while at the same time, too large and hot inside his own skin.

Dick. They got Dick, because of him. Because he saw Slade. Saw Slade and heard his voice. Now he’s failed on both sides, and he can’t— 

He closes his eyes against Slade’s throat, listening to the sound of him explaining to the security guards what happened and who both Jason and Dick are. Then in no time at all, it seems, Slade is leading him away from the room, still wearing only his jacket, out towards a waiting car and back home.

He doesn’t see Dick again on the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> [Fire's tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Skali's tumblr](https://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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